Colin Pickett Poems

Gnarled 5-Irons
and askew putters
plagued the
battle field.
...

We ignore the churchbells.
Our free-will traps our minds,
and we become lost in
options that have no ends.
...

How coldly the orifaces of her soul burned,
yet I thirst, hunger, and yearn for the fire
that was, and is now muted by desire, decay
and sins of the flesh.
...

The pales contours of her body
sank into the image behind her; gray
waves and skies and sand
exposed her
...

Bric-a-brac planks and posts
of wilting fences
guard the gnarled sage
and cheat grass from the
...

Passing by,
friendless creatures
bruied under the desert sky.
...

He cried

as the lights and sounds came
crashing
...

Tamed humanity has won its prize.
Unnamed victory has scarred the earth.

All that was,
...

The field- holes and hills-
sat smoothly on her skin.
Cold marble embracing
her waist; a kiss of
...

Solace in tea,
vapors of places
beyond her.
She is set stone.
...